Better
by DeniseV
Summary: Starsky is recovering from the Gunther shooting. His partner is with him when he has a difficult day, and Hutch thinks he sees a sign that things are starting to get better.


"Starsk," I called gently to my partner.

"Starsky." I raised my voice a little louder. He had fallen asleep on the workout mat after his most recent physical therapy session. It had been brutal today. The therapist had warned us that today he would be taking Starsky to the next stage of his PT schedule. Every new stage brought new pain for him, testing muscles, stretching scar tissue and providing myriad other new aches in his damaged body.

He was exhausted, and I hated to wake him. But he needed to get up and move around before the stiffness could set in. It was bad enough that he was in such pain from therapy that was supposed to help him get better; I couldn't bear to see any added discomfort from allowing him to continue sleeping there.

"Starsky, come on, you have to get up. You can rest later." He groaned deeply.

"Ah, Blintz, I'm gonna need help gettin' up. I ache everywhere today." I was glad he felt comfortable enough to ask for the help up. There had been a period, right after he was released from the hospital, that he refused any help. He was mobile, but just barely. He needed help getting up and down stairs early on, but rather than accept assistance, he struggled on his own, causing more trouble for himself more than once with pulled muscles or bruises suffered from assorted falls. I had finally had enough and threatened to contact his doctor if he continued this way. He finally came to his senses, the threat having its intended affect.

I helped him up and he made his way to the couch. He was looking a little paler than normal. Well, normal being relative to his before the shooting color and after the shooting color. He'd retained an ashen look since being shot, the combined effect of the pain of his recovery, the stress of his struggle to get better, the meds and hardly any time spent outside.

"You hungry?" I asked the question, knowing by the look on his face that he wasn't feeling up to eating.

"Nah. Might need some time before I can eat tonight." He really wasn't looking well. I went to sit in front of him on the coffee table.

"Starsk, are you feeling sick?" He was still occasionally sick from all the medications he was still on, and it looked like maybe the workout might have been a little too much for him as well.

Starsky was resting his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed. "Starsk?"

"Mmmm. Yeah, Hutch?" I looked at him closely and then decided to join him on the couch. I felt his forehead and he definitely felt hot.

"Starsky, you're feeling pretty bad right now, huh?" He opened his eyes, giving me a glassy, miserable stare. He didn't answer, but just closed his eyes, a barely noticeable shake of the head confirmation of how he felt.

I grabbed him softly on either arm and eased him down on the couch. "Stay right here." I told him. "I'm gonna go get the thermometer." I wasn't getting good responses from my partner and I was afraid that his temperature was going to force me to take him to the hospital. Again. And that wasn't going to go over well at all.

Starsky had been in and out of the hospital a number of times since his initial release. He had suffered severe injuries and withstood numerous surgeries on his way to being discharged. And the complications that the doctors said could develop did, despite our best efforts to keep on top of things. Starsky's resistance was down, and the doctors told us to keep an eye out for infections. He had been back in the hospital twice for infections related to his surgeries, once for an incision that was simply refusing to heal, and once when his temperature took an unexpected spike when he caught a cold that almost developed into pneumonia.

If his temperature was too high, I was going to have to rush him to the hospital. I prayed that it would be within a manageable range.

I sat on the coffee table again and shook his arm lightly. He had already fallen asleep. Tired eyes looked at me. "Hey, buddy, let me get this under your tongue."

"Not goin' to the hospital," he insisted sluggishly.

"I hope not, partner." I put my hand on his forehead again, and carefully pushed some curls back off of it. I knew that these struggles were expected, but he was in enough pain already – it seemed so unfair for him to have to fight these fights as well.

I went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth to place on his forehead. I figured it would make him feel a little better while he rested, even though the effect on lowering his temperature was surely negligible.

I watched his face as I waited to check the temperature. His face was so different. The joy that was the essence of my friend was missing. I hoped that this painful period of recovery would not permanently change him; that we would find a point where we would suddenly find that the days were getting easier, better. We hadn't hit that point yet.

I took the thermometer out. Starsky was dozing again, which was probably the best thing for him right now. His temperature was up to 101 degrees. That wasn't good, but it was also not so high that it was risking his health to just stay put. Psychologically, if not physically, every time he did not have to go to the hospital was a victory.

I checked the time. He was due for his meds in about half an hour. I was going to have to get him to eat something then. We had learned early on that some of the medications made him violently ill when taken without food. We were fully aware of this side effect, but when Starsky first got out of the hospital his appetite was sketchy at best. He tried a number of times to take the pills without food and ended up heaving what little was in his stomach, including the pills, and then suffered through painful dry heaves. There were a few times when he was in such bad shape after the vomiting that I thought I would need to call an ambulance. He couldn't catch his breath and would press against his chest as if the force of it would keep his heart from bursting out.

I checked his pulse to make sure he was resting comfortably. He moved slightly, but remained asleep. I headed for the kitchen and tried to figure out what to give him that he would like and he would likely keep in his stomach.

He was on a diet, of a sort. He couldn't have anything that would be excessively hard to digest. Most meat was out of his diet for now. Even certain fruits and vegetables were out. He was still able to eat a lot of foods, but only in moderation. And certain combinations of food had to be watched, too. I decided that something simple would be best, and Starsky loved eggs, so scrambled eggs for dinner it was. I didn't expect him to eat much, but just a little food in his stomach was all it usually took for him to keep the pills down.

I finished making his dinner and went to wake him. I kneeled down next to him, my face level with his, and touched his shoulder gently. "Wake up, sleepy head. Time to eat." He slowly came around, blinking to get his eyes to focus. "How do you feel now?"

"Tired. A little hot. A little hungry." I was glad to hear that.

"Good. Come on and eat." I helped him to stand, and he made his way to the table without assistance.

"Hey, eggs for dinner. Great." He gave me a smile. It was only a smile, but I saw something flicker behind that smile that I hadn't seen in a while. And I thought back to a time when my partner would never consider eating eggs for dinner.

Things have changed so much since then.

We talked and ate leisurely. He asked about work. I gave him an update. We talked about going for a drive this weekend. The doctors had said that Starsky should do whatever he felt up to doing. I think talking about going out on Saturday really lifted his spirits.

We finished eating and Starsky stayed at the table while I cleared up the dishes. He looked so much better than he had just an hour or so ago. "You really look like you're feeling better."

"Yeah, I think maybe I just over did it today. May have to talk to the therapist about how I felt after today's session. Don't wanna feel like that again if I can help it."

"Good idea, Starsk. Hey, you feel like watching the game?"

"Yeah, I could definitely start. Don't know if I'll stay awake for the whole thing." He seemed genuinely pleased to be able to spend a normal evening in front of the TV.

"Well, these pills are going to make it harder for you to stay awake for the whole thing, but I'm afraid it's time." I handed the pills to my partner and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"Don't suppose I could talk you in to lettin' me take these with a swig or two of beer?" He had to be kidding.

"Let me answer this way, A) No and B) No way." And then he stuck his tongue out at me and said, "You're mean, Hutch."

I laughed. "You know, with the combination of you already being tired, your meds and a little beer, you might actually last until the first pitch." I handed him the glass of water and sat on the couch.

"You're a real party pooper, you know that Blintz?" He took his pills and lay down on the couch, putting his feet on my legs and tucking his head comfortably on a pillow. Yeah, it wouldn't be long before he was out, and that was just fine.

I think the day just got better.

The End


End file.
